


Meeting the Masterpiece

by OneOddKitteh



Series: Very Important Sabriel AU's [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Artist Gabriel, Clubbing, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 12:45:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2693477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneOddKitteh/pseuds/OneOddKitteh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <a href="http://bluandorange.tumblr.com/post/99340650045/inthebackoftheimpala-cliffnotesofanerd">We’re the only two people in this club. What is this club even for?</a>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meeting the Masterpiece

**Author's Note:**

> This entire fic came from me reading the prompt 'We’re the only two people in this club. What is this club even for?' and totally mis-interpreting the word club. I found the entire idea of two people alone in a seemingly normal club way too funny to not write about, so I wrote this weird lump of writing. Enjoy!

When Sam entered the building, he thought he’d walked into the wrong place. He’d checked the address on the invitation like four times, though. The building was empty. Music was still playing, bass thrumming through the floor and Sam’s feet. The lights still flashed over the dance floor, but nobody was dancing. It wasn’t even the weird kind of club where people were standing around not dancing; there was no one in the club _to dance_. Sam took one step back, and then another. He stopped stepping back then, because he’d bumped into someone behind him.

“Sorry,” he said, turning around and steadying the person automatically. “I thought I was alone.”

The man looked to be about Sam’s age, with blonde hair tied back into a tiny ponytail. His ears were filled with earrings, and one had a tiny bronze dragon curled around it. He so many piercings that Sam had to wonder how the hell he’d been able to afford so many, along with the tattoo that peeked from the collar of his button up. Sam’s money had gone on books, despite the help his scholarship had been. He’d be ashamed by the way he was looking the man up and down, but he was getting the same curious looks.

“S’ok,” the guy replied. “Where is everyone? Are we early?”

“I don’t know,” Sam shrugged. “You got the invitation too?”

With a nod, he pulled the innocuous looking piece of paper from his jacket.

“You’ve been selected to attend the opening of The Club,” he read slowly. “Some opening. What even is this place? What kind of club is just called ‘The Club’?”

They looked around for a while, before noticing the drinks on the bar. They glanced at each other, and back at the drinks.

“This is just getting really weird,” Sam muttered.

 “You’re telling me. Were they there before?” he asked Sam, stepping towards them slowly.

“Don’t think so.”

He followed the other guy to the bar, staring at the two drinks warily. Two offensively pink cocktails with a slice of lime on the edge of the glass sat there as if they belonged there in the first place. A note beside them read ‘On the house’ in gold script. Yeah, _sure_. Sam was definitely looking forward to getting roofied alone with Mr. I can afford more piercings on one ear than you can afford on your body.

“This is officially the strangest night of my life,” the guy said. “And that’s saying something.”

He turned to smile at Sam’s responding snort of laughter. He picked up one of the glasses, sniffed it and took a hesitant sip. As he did, the music turned down enough to allow conversation. Sam wasn’t sure whether to stare at the stranger across from him, or look around the club to find whoever was behind this. It felt like a movie set, like everyone had just stepped off set for a drink break. The man’s voice bought him back to the moment before he could get anymore freaked out.

“Cosmopolitan. Huh. So, I’m assuming we’re meant to bonding over how intensely surreal this is,” he said. “I’m Gabriel, recently returned from a gap year travelling around Finland, Sweden and Norway. I’m majoring in fine arts, with a side of folk lore. Who are you? I haven’t you around before.”

Sam smiled at him happily, and took the other drink. Hey, if he was getting drugged, at least it wouldn’t be alone.

“You wouldn’t have seen me, it’s my first semester here. I’m Sam. I transferred from Stanford Law, after realising that people are assholes and too much of the law protects the wrong people. I have absolutely no clue what I want to do, but it’s not law. The scholarship guys weren’t happy about that, but for some reason they haven’t withdrawn any of the help, so I’m good to stay. I’m thinking something to do with history, actually.”

Gabriel’s eyes had widened when Sam let slip that he was there one scholarship, and he latched onto it immediately.

“You got into Stanford Law School on a Scholarship, and now you’re switching to _history,_ ” he said. “You’re one of those people that just _loves_ essays, don’t you?”

Sam shrugged, sipping at the drink. He’d moved to sitting on the barstool, and staring at the little peek at Gabriel’s tattoos above his collar. He could only catch a glimpse of colour and swirling edging, and his curiosity was eating him up.

“I like research and writing,” he said honestly. “I like knowing things. If I could, I’d just spend my life learning stuff, but I don’t think I’d be able to pay the college bills.”

Gabriel shook his head, grinning.

“You lucky freak,” he groaned. “Sure, knowing things is cool, but the research part is the worst. The essays I’m doing in folk lore and religion are murder. If they weren’t the only muse keeping my paintings coming, I’d have dropped the classes ages ago.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at him. He liked Gabriel’s frank honesty. He also liked Gabriel’s face, and hair, and was intrigued by his entire style, but they were just little things.

“So what do you paint?” he asked.

Gabriel launched into a description of his depictions of the supernatural, and the effects of underlying social commentary in seemingly shallow paintings. Sam was barely following, but it sounded _awesome._ Gabriel sounded awesome. When they’d finished their drinks, they were joined by several people that greeted Gabriel by name, and introduced themselves to Sam as media production students. _Of course._  The whole thing had been recorded, and was going to become part of an exhibition and an advertisement for the club (which was actually opening the next week), as well as a music video for one of their productions. In between them showing Sam the song it was a video for, and him signing various papers giving permission for the film to be used, he discovered that he liked this crowd of people. They were simultaneously loud and quiet, pressing around him without it feeling like he was being closed in. Gabriel kept sharing an amused grin with him, something quiet and apart from the music that had turned up, and the people being let into the room, and the bartender that had appeared from a hidden door with a smile and wave.

Sam went home with Gabriel that night. Sam saw all of his tattoos, and by the end of the week, he knew all the stories behind the six wings twisting around his back and torso, and all the eerie supernatural beings curled around Gabriel like a protective skin. Gabriel knew Sam’s own tattoo was to match his brothers. Three months in, Gabriel had met Dean in person. They argued over stupid things, like Sam getting his hair cut, and Gabriel's insistence on paying for Sam's second tattoo, because 'I designed it as a present, why would I make you pay for your present, Sam?' They still went to the club every second Friday night, just because they could. Sam had no idea what he wanted to do with what he was studying, and Gabriel still hated essays, and they made it work anyway.

And no matter how many times Sam saw Gabriel paint, he couldn’t help thinking that Gabriel himself was the masterpiece. 


End file.
